Marshall in Strange Places

Bits of Kanadiana in Krakow

Kata and I took a Discovery Walk when we arrived.

Where all the Polish kings were crowned and buried.
There's even some Hungarian royalty.

Wawel at dusk.

Going deep underground to the Wieliczka salt mine.

The Salt King in Wieliczka.

Oh, hi, from the ballroom of the Wieliczka salt mine. Salt mining seems pretty cushy to me.

Happy New Years!

The third Polish person I ever met was Bart. He came to my second-grade class speaking no English; fresh off the boat, as they say, from communist Poland. Luckily, Kamil, the second Polish person I ever met, was there to translate for him, since Kamil arrived with a similar linguistic barrier in the first grade.

I ended up moving away from the school. Years later I began working at Angelo’s in high school and met a fast-talking Canadian guy who looked oddly familiar. I realized he wasn’t Canadian when he switched from potty-mouthed English to polite Polish while speaking with one of the kitchen ladies kitchen. It was Bart

By the way, the first Polish person I ever met was Mike S in kindergarten. I can’t recall his last name, but I remember it was difficult to pronounce.

I drop this little London anecdote into my travel blog to illustrate the strange place I grew up in, which was filled with friends whose families came form all over the world. Many of them, due to some immigration patterns beyond my comprehension, were Polish.

That is why out of all the places I visited here, including the Britain, Poland has felt the most like home.

I don’t understand the language, aside from a few cuss words, but when I heard it in Krakow, I thought, Oh yeah, I know those sounds, not the words, but the sounds those words make! It was actually an almost comforting sound to hear – until it was directed at me, which prompted my usual awkward stare and awkward shrug response.

That whole home feeling really came out when eating. For one thing, Polish food is damn good. Most of us know about pierogi and they’re great, but a life without potato pancakes is a life not lived. And while it took a few free cabbage rolls during my Angelo’s to fully appreciate them, my first Pączki was sweet, sweet sugary food love at first bite.

But it was in a homestyle restaurant in Krakow that really brought me back to little London. Kata and I ordered some kielbasa. Aside from some homestyle peanut butter I brought back with me from Canada, the kielbasa strangely that felt like Canadian comfort food to me.

I just had to come to Krakow to get it.

The Ten Thousand Forint Curse

The ATM that spits out 10,000 HUF is an unkind ATM

Teak handed the Czech lady a 2000 crowns (about 100 Canadian dollars) bill to pay for a 20 crown little map of Prague and then apologized profusely. The lady said no worries, happily rang in the purchase and gave Teak the change.

We looked at each other in amazement. Strange.

Then it happened again. I bought two sausages and a beer with a 2000 crown banknote and the cashier did not seem to mind at all.

These reactions are a stark contrast to the perils of getting a stuck with a 10,000 (about 50 CAD) in Hungary, which happens often thanks to the twisted generosity of ATMs here.

I've had people refuse to accept payment because all I had was a 10,000 forint bill. I'm serious, she had my gelato and I had my cursed bill, and she shock her head, Nem! If it is accepted it, it's sometimes accepted with rolled eyes, audible sighs, and loud groans.

I'm not complaining – this is a first world problem, after all – but a little empathy would be nice, or recognition that a 10,000 HUF note is legal tender of the land.

My beef isn't really with the people who are forced to break 10,000 forint bills, my heart goes out to them. Instead, I blame the ATMs that refuse to give out smaller denominations. I'm blaming the machines!

Venice

The days are are still short, the dark is still coming earlier than wanted – Hungary still resembles Mordor this is the time of year, and so my mind goes to brighter times during the summer.

The original plan was not Venice. It was Trieste. But at the last minute, we fought the Hungarian bus service bureaucracy and changed our tickets for the overnight bus to the Floating City.

We arrived all bleary eyed, found our way to our penzione, which was in a 200-year-old building, where we got a late breakfast on the lovely terrace. Then we set out to explore. Venice is a strange, almost fantasy land. The city is old, there are no cars, great food and so romantic that even I noticed that it was romantic. It also helps that we had a Baroque-fairy-tale-style room.

The city feels Medieval and, at times, smells a little Medieval, but it lives up to all of its hype. It really is a beautiful place, and we were lucky enough to have incredible weather the whole time we were there, except when we overextended our visit and missed our bus to Budapest, then it thunderstormed.

There are a lot of cliches about Venice, but when you're there, not too many of the cliches are unpleasant. We ate plenty of gelato and sipped wine at cafes. Dolce vita stuff. We also found the Indiana Jones church and I took way too many artsy photos.